something about girls dying in the pond behind the big house. hugh dennis comes to give a talk about lots of people we haven't heard of. john walker asks where everyone is.

a couple of nights ago my friends and i were camped out in the woods in a woody allen film looking for bears. we were trying to teach them how to dig, but then realised they didn't need our help when we saw one ski past us joyfully.

in a taxi with a whitehaired italian man who is telling me about how it will take him years to learn english properly. he is talking with all the words in the wrong order, but i still understand him. i tell him that this is what learning language means: to be able to communicate creatively so as to tell people things in a new way.

directing a play but as i'm still working it fails to move through preliminary rehearsals - too many phonecalls interrupting. after that i stop working and start co-directing a play about death with nick. there are no actors. nick starts bragging foolishly about the book of the dead to some passing tourists i suspect may have been spies, and i bump into a rabbi in the library who looks at me knowingly. our book of the dead is different and after we finish we won't need any more religion. we stop worrying about copyright and start working in earnest.

i was at a rowing competition with karen and catherine. while everyone was racing, i went upstairs in the mill and dragged a boy down who had fallen asleep in a sack. he was pissed off that i'd woken him up and i made him join in the festivities.

then i was going out with a silverhaired boy in fellini's rome and he was from an asylum. i almost got arrested by a policeman when my carthorse was helping me take supplies down the main street. then i went to visit my boyfriend who seemed to be fast asleep in the waiting room at the asylum, and realised i was really late for university classes. he said "it's okay, my friend sorted out a doctor's note for you" but when i try and leave an orderly stops me saying, "patients can't go out like that". they think i'm a real patient and i'm not allowed out again, and when they take me to my cell i try really hard not to struggle, because i know they'll think i'm violent and never let me out. once in the cell, however, i am under restraints and keep moaning in claustrophobic fear.

after i wake up i instinctively know that boyfriend rigged the whole thing deliberately so i wouldn't leave him, even though i don't realise this in the dream. the fuck.